


not with a whimper, but with a bang

by haplesshippo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Politics, Revenge Plot, Secret Identity, Terminal Illnesses, lang ya bang inspired, major character death planned later in the story, nirvana in fire inspired
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 11:22:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13386777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haplesshippo/pseuds/haplesshippo
Summary: Four provinces war each other for the favor of King Dumbledore.  To the southwest, the denizens of the Forbidden Forest grow more unruly.  Within the Phoenix Palace, old enemies rise again.  And from beyond the borders of Hogwarts, a man makes his way back home, with plans of revenge in his heart.





	not with a whimper, but with a bang

**Author's Note:**

> Oh no, I've started another one. I couldn't stop thinking about this one since I finished Nirvana in Fire/Lang Ya Bang (which is amazing, please go watch it if you're interested in Chinese historical dramas, and even if you're not, go watch it anyways...every English subbed episode is up on Youtube!). Since Harry Potter's cast is so big, I felt like the HP universe could adapt really well into a LYB-like world. I'm so sorry for this.
> 
> Tom Riddle might possibly be out of character as well. Sorry.

King Dumbledore’s royal birthday gathering celebration was always a grand affair.  There were ladies in sweeping, shimmering gowns and men in sharp, dark robes.  Music from all over the provinces echoed in the halls of the Phoenix Palace, from the somber, powerful singing of Ravenclaws to the refined instrumentals of Slytherins.  Nobles made connections, made enemies, made allies and pacts and promises and threats and warnings.  It was an event teeming with politics and schemes, a time to truly impress the King and a place to slowly claw one’s way to the top, over the reputations and livelihoods of others.

A tournament was held for one month after the anniversary of King Dumbledore’s birth, a stage for the greatest warriors and sorcerers of the provinces to display their bravery and skills, in celebration for the birth of one of the most magnificent Kings in Hogwarts history.  The champion would win the favor of the King, bring honor to their Prince, and place their province one step above the others.  After all, strong warrior implied a strong province, a strong province implied a strong Prince, and the Prince of a strong province would, of course, be a strong King.

All eyes in the nation were fixed on this grand event, watching and scrutinizing and plotting.  For Prince Cedric Diggory, King Dumbledore’s royal birthday gathering was a place of battle.

The sun beat down on Cedric’s skin, tanned and freckled from his days spent at sea and on the plains.  His hair fluttered in the breeze, and even so far from the Great Sea, half a week’s travel from the shore, he imagined he could smell the salt in the air.

To his right, his father rode on another horse, one of the finest in Hufflepuff.  Behind him, at least fifty men and women followed, some nobles, some warriors, some merchants.  And behind _them_ , wagons and carts full of goods from across the Great Sea, filled to the brim with precious metals and handcrafted art, spread over the great grasslands.

“How much longer until we meet with Cho?” Cedric asked, peering hopefully at the sky.

Amos Diggory shook his head.  “It should be soon.  We’d arranged to meet today.  Be patient, son.”

Cedric grinned boyishly before humming, his voice rising and falling with the wind.  Even if he did have a month-long battle to look ahead to at the Palace, today he could afford to bask in the plains of his home province and look forward to seeing his fiancée.

As his father had promised, only an hour later Cedric could make out a dark shape in the sky, flying through the clouds.  Soon enough, the shape became a cloud of multicolored scales and leathery wings.  At the forefront, Cedric could see the distinctive red and yellow of Cho’s mount, and not long afterwards the Chinese Fireball landed.

Cho sat on its back, proudly dressed in dragon leathers to mitigate the cutting chill of wind.  With a graceful swing of her legs, she slid off the dragon and landed nimbly on her feet.  Her hair was braided up into a bun, and her skin was flushed from the ride.

“Cedric!” Cho exclaimed.  Cedric dismounted as well, and the moment his toes touched the ground, he was bowled over by the Ravenclaw.

“How are you?” Cedric asked, burying his nose her hair and breathing in the distinctive smell of smoke and fire all Ravenclaws possessed.  “It is so good to see you.”

“And you,” Cho replied warmly before reaching up and pecking him chastely on the lips.  Cedric grinned impishly before capturing her lips with his own, resulting in a kiss much more involved than the first.

Amos cleared his throat politely, amused.

Cho managed to disentangle herself from her intended with a couple of playful slaps.  Cedric rubbed his arm good-naturedly, and Cho turned and kneeled, head bent over her knee respectfully.

“Lord Diggory.”

“Get up, child,” Amos said, amused.  “We’re to be family one day, are we not?  There’s no need to bow to your father-in-law.”

“All the more reason to show you respect,” Cho replied smoothly.  “If I offend you know, I think our future family reunions will be incredibly uncomfortable.”

Amos and Cedric laughed, and Cedric tugged Cho over to wrap his arm around her shoulders.  “That’s true, father.  Don’t worry though, Cho.  If you ever offend father, I’ll be sure to take your side, my lady.”

“Oh, you charmer,” Cho said drily and rolled her eyes.  She elbowed him in the ribs, and Cedric gave a pathetic ‘oof.’  She crossed her arms, and against the blood-red dragon behind her and the sky-high sun, blazing heat down upon the Hufflepuff prairies framed by her army of dragons and riders, with thick furs hanging from her shoulders as if fire didn’t affect her at all, she truly looked like the Princess of Ravenclaw.  “Shall we head out to the Phoenix Palace, then?”

Cedric slung himself back onto his horse’s back and drawled, “After you, my lady.”

* * *

Draco Malfoy’s grin stretched his mouth wide, and he gave a small whoop as the wind tore at his clothes and made tears spring to his eyes.  His grip tightened on his broom, and he leaned forward so that he was nearly lying on the handle, shooting as quickly as a spell as he left the capital of Slytherin behind him.

“Draco!” Lucius called warningly over the wind, and Draco forced himself to slow down.  Between his studies and plotting and spellwork, he rarely had any free time to just let go and fly.

His father rode up in a carriage pulled by Abraxan, their golden fur shining and white manes tossing as they flew closer to the Prince.

“Father,” Draco greeted breathlessly.

“It is not dignified for the Slytherin Prince to scream like a little boy.  You are already a young man, so please act like one.”  Lucius’s hair was clipped back with a beautiful silver ornament, emeralds sparkling at the end of the chains that dangled from the trinket.  He tilted his head towards the entourage of carriages behind him, likewise pulled by Abraxan.  “Imagine what your subjects’ reactions would be if they saw you so excited about a flying broom, like a mudblood.”

Draco rolled his eyes.  “ _Father_.  Only our closest friends are coming to the King’s.  What’s the harm?”

“Everybody has the potential to thrust a knife in another’s back,” Lucius reminded mildly.  “Imagine if any of them think of you as a mere toddler as opposed to an actual man.  One’s image is another weapon in your hands, and you must wield it effectively.”

Draco huffed and reigned in his enthusiasm.  He settled into flying a reasonable pace with his father, and Lucius cast a quick spell around them.  A bubble shimmered into being around just the two of them, and the wind died down quickly.

“Now tell me,” Lucius began, “what news have you?”

“We have not heard from our spies in Hufflepuff yet,” Draco began reporting dutifully.  “The only reports we’ve had is that Diggory is planning to meet with Chang, and they’ll journey together to the Palace.  The Hufflepuffs bring treasures from Mahoutokoro and rare ores, presumably for the Ravenclaws to craft something pointless for the King.”

“Our gift will, as always, win Dumbledore’s favor.”

“Indeed.  He’s always preferred spellwork to the more crude gifts our…ah, compatriots present,” Draco sneered. 

“And what of the disgraces to the south?”

“What of them?” Draco asked carelessly.  “Potter has been sent to defend the borders of the Forbidden Forest.  He will most likely not be able to make it to the festival.  And what a pity _that_ would be.  It’s ironic, that Dumbledore’s own home province would fall out of his favor.”

“For all the airs our King puts on,” Lucius commented drily, “he has some snake blood in him.”

“To become King, he’d _have_ to.”

“And what of our efforts along our borders?”

Draco hesitated, and Lucius gestured impatiently for him to continue his report.

“We have claimed Godric’s Hollow,” he finally said slowly.

“Good,” Lucius purred, and his lips curled with satisfaction.  “Another plot of land lost from Gryffindor and taken for our own.”

“I can’t help but think this move is too…bold, father.  Surely Dumbledore wouldn’t tolerate us seizing another province’s lands?  Especially since, technically, we are in times of peace.  Actively encroaching on another province’s borders is not easily excused.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow, and Draco felt like he’d disappointed his father somehow.  “Did I teach you _nothing_ of critical thinking, Draco?”

Draco pursed his lips and looked straight ahead, wracking his brain for an answer.  Why _would_ Dumbledore forgive this?  Slytherins were sly, wily, and ambitious, yes, but they also had enough self-preservation to avoid any negative attention.  Forcefully taking Gryffindor land wouldn’t be forgiven, and Dumbledore’s ire would surely harm Draco’s chances at inheriting the throne.

“Where is Godric’s Hollow close to?” Lucius prompted.

“It lies close to our border with Gryffindor, only within several kilometers of Slytherin land.”

“And where else?”

Draco’s eyes widened in understanding.

“Ilvermorny.”

Lucius leaned back and gazed at the passing clouds serenely.  “Indeed, Ilvermorny.  With Potter off to fight his little skirmishes with the denizens of the Forbidden Forest, all the way on the other side of Gryffindor, he often hasn’t the time to tend to his own affairs.  It is easy to say that we were concerned for Godric’s Hollow, since it is so close to a foreign Alliance that has recently come into great power, and so we took it under our protection out of the _goodness_ of our hearts.  With the disregard Dumbledore has for Potter, I doubt he will mind.  In fact, the King might even praise us for our foresight.”

“Surely he’s not that blind!” Draco protested.

“Blind?  No usually, no, but when it comes to the close friend of a traitor, he will turn the other way,” Lucius said smugly.

“And Potter won’t even be present to defend himself when we tell the King,” Draco realized giddily.  “And when his campaign _does_ end in a month, by the time he travels all the way to the Palace the King will already have accepted our claim.”

“The icing on the proverbial cake.”

Lucius carelessly waved his wand, and the bubble around them popped.  The conversation had finished.  The wind rushed back, toying with Draco’s own long hair tied into an elegant ponytail, but he’d long forgotten about enjoying the flight.  Instead, his mind was focused on the upcoming confrontation with Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.

* * *

_His father’s body, trampled beneath hooves.  Metal flashed, runes glowed, wards flared.  His soldiers, his comrades, his_ friends _falling, dropping like flies.  Sand drank the blood.  Dust choked the dead._

_Fire, pure fire along his skin.  Dragged atop a cliff.  Fingers gripping, squeezing his breath from his lungs.  Brown eyes, mild smile, amusement danced._

_“Goodbye.”_

_Fingers loosened.  Armor clanked.  Metal bit._

_“Little.”_

_A freefall.  Rushing, down, down, down.  Impact with hard earth._

_“Commander.”_

Tom Riddle gasped awake, fingers scrabbling at his neck.  Sweat stuck his clothes to his skin, and he imagined the taste of iron on his tongue, of the _crunchcrashcrackle_ of his bones against the ground.  He closed his eyes and shook.

Just a dream.  A nightmare, long past.

He closed his eyes and wrapped his duvet more tightly around himself.  The chill of the night crept into his bones, and he knew he didn’t have long.

It was time to make his move.

* * *

“All I’m saying,” Theseus Scamander said, waving around the bit of sausage on his fork emphatically, “is that in a match between a spellmage and a spellsword, the spellsword would win.”

“And all I’m saying,” Percival mimicked, “is that magic will always triumph over might.  A sword’s also heavier.  You’re slower with a sword than I am with a wand.  You lose your sword, I win the fight.”

“Against me, _maybe_ , but match yourself against Nagini, will you?”

“That’s not a fair fight.”

“Oh?  Why’s fighting _her_ not fair but fighting _me_ is?”

Percival smirked and sipped at his orange juice.  “Don’t deny that Nagini is the strongest fighter in all of Ilvermorny.”

“I wouldn’t dare!” Theseus exclaimed dramatically.  “She’d _chop my head off._ ”

“An astute conclusion.”  Nagini slunk out of the shadows, golden yellow eyes fixed on Theseus.  “But who’s to say I wouldn’t anyways?”

“Ah!  Newt, save me!”

Newt leaned away from his brother’s antics and nodded politely to Nagini.  “Good morning.  Where’s Lord Voldemort?”

“Not here,” Nagini replied shortly.  She pulled herself a chair and practically melted into it, all lethal grace and tightly coiled violence in her muscles.

Newt wordlessly passed over the bacon and sausage, and Nagini politely served herself a generous plate of meat.

“Why’s she like _you_ so much?” Theseus complained.

“Because he doesn’t put his foot in his mouth every other word, you imbecile,” Percival muttered.

“Bickering already, so early in the morning?” someone asked, half amusement and half exasperation.  Seraphina Picquery sat herself in the seat to the right of the empty chair at the head of the table.  “Surely you’ve all got better pastimes than arguing about something inane?”

Percival nodded towards the woman politely.  “Madam.”

“Good morning, Mr. Graves.”

“Good _morning_ , my lovely lady,” Theseus greeted brightly.  “Your beauty is _dazzling_ this morning!  May I interest you in some – _aaargh!_ ”  He wheezed, and Nagini shifted slightly so that her leg slipped back under the long slit of her dress.

“Good morning, Miss Nagini, Mr. Scamander.”

Newt nodded shyly, and Nagini only inclined her head before devouring her breakfast.

“I see you’ve all gathered in my household already.”  Voldemort leaned against the doorframe, sweeping his gaze over the occupants of the dining room.  His eyes glinted red in the growing light, and his white hair, pulled messily into a bun, fell over his paper white skin.  “And helped yourself to my food,” he added drily.

“I tried to stop them,” Nagini lied shamelessly.

“You did _not!_ ” Theseus shrieked, having recovered from tending to his poor, abused shin.

“No matter.  I won’t be in need of it any longer,” Voldemort replied.  He sat himself at the head of the table, and Nagini passed him a plate of eggs and sausage, no bacon, dry as dirt.  Voldemort eyed the meal but sighed in resignation.

“You’re on a strict diet, why do you even have bacon in your house?” Theseus asked accusingly, ignoring the fact that he was spearing another slice of bacon on his fork.  “And…wait, did you say you _wouldn’t be needing food anymore_?!”

“I’ll be heading out soon, to Hogwarts.”

“What, already?” Seraphina asked, a startled look sliding across her face between she wiped it clean.  “Is it not too soon?”

“It’s been ten years,” Voldemort replied gently, and he made eye contact with each of his most trusted friends and advisors in Ilvermorny.  “I’m not getting any younger, and the longer I wait, the worse condition I’ll be in.”

“Can you not at least wait to become stronger?” Percival asked.  Voldemort shook his head.

“No longer.  I must act now, while King Dumbledore’s holding his celebration.”

“What a foolish king.  He’s grown senile in his old age.”  Seraphina shook her head.  She liberally poured syrup on her pancakes and cut them into neat, little squares.  Newt eyed her knife nervously.  Anyone who cut their pancakes so neatly was not to be trusted.  “And have you decided whom you’ll be going with?”

“Nagini, obviously,” Voldemort replied, and he sulkily stuck his fork full of egg in his mouth.  Bland and dry and unappetizing, just as ordered.  “Percival, and Newt.  You and Theseus will be staying to manage the Alliance from here.”

Newt startled, and he turned his doe eyes on Voldemort.  Likewise, Theseus had already began puffing himself up in protective pride.  Percival and Seraphina, bless their hearts, didn’t question Voldemort’s reasons.  Nagini placidly began piling more bacon onto her plate.

“M-Me?” Newt asked.

“My baby brother?” Theseus squawked.  “Are you quite sure?  You know I respect you, my Lord, but surely you’ve misjudged?”

“Mind your manners, little mouse, or you might find yourself without a tongue,” Nagini hissed pleasantly, her sibilant voice immediately making Theseus withdraw in fear.

“I am quite certain.  It’s been decided.  Please make preparations.  We leave tomorrow.”

* * *

“I heard that you had bacon for breakfast.”

“I did _not_.  The bacon was for Nagini,” Tom immediately denied.

Severus added a few drops of viscous oil to his cauldron, and the liquid inside rapidly turned from the murkiest, ugliest shade of green Tom had ever had the misfortune of landing his eyes on to a passable turquoise.

“I also heard that you’ll be leaving soon.”  Severus’s hair was slicked back with gel, to keep it from swinging into his face while bent over his potions.  “I assume you’ve come here to ask me for the miracle of extending your already pathetic existence.”

“You brought me into this world,” Tom reminded.  “I’d at least hoped you were personally interested in keeping me in it.”

Severus sneered.  He crushed several beetle eyes irritably, pestle grinding against his stone pot.  Silence settled like the smoke and fumes settled into Severus’s hair, like he had settled into the Ilvermorny Alliance with Tom’s body in his arms, practically begging for a safe haven.  Tom waited patiently.

For as long as Tom had known Severus (which was quite long, considering Tom had been rather rambunctious in his youth and visited the potioneer often for everything, from colds to injuries to nightmares), Tom had known that Severus’s silence wasn’t something to be feared.  It was something to respect, because if one interrupted that silence, one interrupted Severus’s thoughts and mulling, and if one did _that_ …well, Severus would turn more ornery than he already was.  Which would be to epic proportions, and then Tom would _never_ get what he needed from the man.

Tom perused the bottles on the shelves.  Dragon blood (rare, now that they were far from the home of dragons), acromantula silk, phoenix tears, and thunderbird feathers.  Tom was rather sure that Newt, the darling, sweet, obliging man that he was, had helped Severus procure most of these. 

Finally, Severus ladled the concoction into several bottles.  He stowed them away in a leather bag and presented them to Tom.

“Take a sip, once a month.  I’ve prepared enough for a year, but if you truly want to stay alive, then you’ll need to _adhere to your diet_ , you reckless child,” Several said.  Tom took the bag and cradled it carefully in his hands.  “It’ll be colder in the north.  You’ll have to pass through Gryffindor before you reach the Palace, and even though the weather there is mild, you’ll _have_ to dress warmly.  Do you understand?”

Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  “Yes, mother.”

Severus snarled, and he grabbed Tom’s wrist tightly.  “Do not take that attitude with _me_ ,” he growled.  “I did not pull you from the pits of death for you to go die again.  _Do you understand me_?”

This was why Tom appreciated the potioneer.  He took no nonsense and bowed to nobody, not even the leader of Ilvermorny.  “I understand, Severus.”

“Good.”  Severus released his wrist.  He folded his arms and turned away like a giant bat.  “You will also have to guard yourself.  Your appearance has changed, and nobody will be able to recognize you by sight anymore.  However, if you insist on acting as you used to, you will be easily discovered.”

Tom rubbed the twine holding the bag closed between his fingers.  A strong, hard, durable material, well suited for travel.  Just as well, since he will be on the road for at least a week.  “You are stating the obvious, Severus.  I don’t intend to reveal my identity.”

“Warnings are never misplaced.  If you’re so determined to see yourself dead, at least do what you’ve set out to do.  Now away with you.  I’ve got more potions to brew and no time to babysit a grown man.”

“Thank you, Severus.  Truly.”  Tom bowed, even if Severus couldn’t see, and slipped out of the dark lab.  Outside, where the halls were brighter, Tom closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

Tomorrow, he would return to Hogwarts, a land he had not set foot in for ten years.  Tomorrow, he would leave the friends he had made, the nation he had helped build, the people he had vowed to protect.  Seraphina and Theseus would hold the fort well enough while he was gone, though.  Good practice, for when Tom was dead.

Tomorrow, Tom would set his plans in motion, and once he set off on this path, there would be no turning back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're confused at all, don't worry, it'll all be explained as the story progresses.
> 
> Criticism and reviews are always welcome, and if you're interested, I do have a Tumblr at haplesshippo as well.
> 
> Sincerely,  
> haplesshippo


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